Gram Croakies

by Sam Cheever

  As we entered the massive production area, Kat turned to us, her voice lifted to be heard over the grind, growl, and clang of the equipment filling the room. “I hope you found your way to us without any issues.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, then shrugged as Grym gave me a look.

  “I was wondering if we could meet the owner while we’re here?” Grym asked loudly.

  “Oh yes,” She screamed back. “Daddy’s looking forward to sitting down with you to discuss distribution into your many stores.” She threw Grym a smile that had enough heat in it to melt my polyester underwear.

  I fought the urge to tug on said undergarment to make sure it hadn’t adhered to anything important.

  “We’re very interested in how the creams are made,” Grym yelled.

  She frowned. “Creams? I thought you were interested in our lotion line.”

  Grym didn’t miss a beat. “We are! Of course. But I’ve been thinking, what good is offering the lotions without the creams.”

  His grin melted my bra. Lizard sneakers! At least I’d have a matched set.

  Kat laughed brightly, the tinkling sound somehow rising above the din. “You are so right, Grym,” she told him.

  When she turned away, I put my finger in my mouth and mock-gagged.

  Grym lifted his brows in censure, but his lips twitched with humor.

  I sent out my seeking magic as we started across a city-sized room filled with metal and rubber conveyor belt contraptions. Nothing came back to me, though we were potentially surrounded by some of the same cream that conceivably had killed the book club and apartment manager.

  Kat walked all the way to the end of the room, yelling information along the way and greeting the men and women managing the addition of cream to jars and lids to bottles.

  Hostile gazes tracked us across the room, distrust like a sour aroma filling the air.

  The tour was interesting. The process of production was simple enough. Once the jars and bottles were sterilized and dried, they were sent along a steadily moving conveyor belt to a spot where labels were applied and then several perfectly spaced jars were filled at once with glossy white cream from funnels that hung from a large metal storage compartment. Before lids were added to the jars, white-coated attendants randomly selected jars of cream and performed a series of quick tests. Apparently, the contents of the jars passed the tests because no alarms ever sounded.

  “What are they testing for?” Grym asked loudly.

  “A variety of things,” Kat answered. “Mostly acidity and purity.” Her attractive face was smooth, her expression calm. She showed no signs at all of having doubts about their pretty product. After a moment, she pointed a well-manicured finger toward the end of the line. “Come on, I’ll give you a sample to take home.” She winked at me and I grinned, pleased that I wouldn’t have to steal a sample as I’d planned. “I would love that,” I told her.

  The woman overseeing the boxing up of the final product at the end of the line fixed a dark, hostile gaze on me when Kat plucked a jar from her box, handing it to me. The woman’s square face was mottled and pocked, her dark eyes deep-set. She looked down a slightly hooked nose at Grym and me. Her thin lips compressed with displeasure.

  I gave her a smile as I accepted the jar. “Thank you.” The woman’s gaze narrowed, but she gave me a tiny nod.

  Kat pointed toward a door on the far side. “The lotions are through there.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we exited the production area and entered the offices, which were located at the back of the huge building. My ears rang in the sudden silence and my pockets bulged with samples. Kat was a generous thing. Though, if she believed we were representatives from one of the countries largest department store chains, she could certainly afford to be generous.

  “That was a great tour, Kat,” Grym told her with a ligament-melting smile. “It’s strange, though, I’ve lived in Enchanted all my life, and I didn’t recognize a single person working in there. Do you bring your employees in from somewhere else?”

  I knew what he was getting at, of course. I could only assume she didn’t. I’d recognized the dark, deep-set gazes and square faces of a goblin in humanoid form. The ruddy, pocked skin was a dead giveaway.

  Her smile tightened. Her gaze shifted briefly away. “We do, actually. Our employees are trained in Greece, where Daddy came from. We bring them here and give them jobs and a sense of family.” Her smile softened again. “Their loyalty to this company is absolute.”

  Was there a hidden message in her words? Was she warning us of something? I just couldn’t tell, but the idea of going up against an entire organization filled with goblins was daunting. I hadn’t counted them as we walked through the production areas, but I figured there had to be close to a hundred goblins working at Hebe.

  Too many to battle without creating a stir that would be frowned upon by the PTB and the Universe.

  Unbidden, the judgy face of Rogers from the SDM flashed through my mind. The last thing I wanted to do was give him and the organization another reason to judge me unfit.

  “Well,” she said happily. “Shall we go talk to Daddy now?”

  “That would be great,” Grym said.

  I gave him wide-eyes. We needed to talk to the salesman who worked with Celia Pepper. I couldn’t help feeling as if our cover would be blown at any moment. After all, the real Maycee’s representatives would probably be arriving soon.

  He ignored me. But a beat later, as we approached a glass-walled offices, Grym stopped and placed a hand on Kat’s arm. “You know what? I need to make a stop in the little boy’s room. Do you mind?”

  Little boy’s room?

  Kat nodded. “Of course, Daddy actually wasn’t expecting us just yet anyway.” She pointed down a short hallway. “It’s down there. When you’re done, just come through that door there and we’ll get you in to see him.”

  “Perfect.” He took her hand, holding it in both of his as he smiled warmly. “Thanks so much.”

  Flushing with pleasure, Kat melted into a puddle of goo right at his feet. I began to see how the Detective was so successful at his job. He could be very charming when he wanted to be.

  Too bad he’d never bothered to use that charm on me.

  As soon as she turned away, striding quickly toward the office, Grym jerked my hand and we headed for the hallway.

  I threw a look at the man standing behind the floor-to-ceiling office window. He was diminutive and bent, his black hair painted heavily with gray. He looked at me through eyes that were glazed with age, his expression so filled with speculation it made my stomach twist.

  “Come on,” Grym urged. “I think I saw our guy.”

  I followed Grym into the hallway, but he didn’t head toward the door clearly marked, Gentlemen. Instead, he hurried toward the open door to a room that emitted a stale fish smell that made my nose twitch. “Ew.”

  Grym slid me a look. “Goblins love fish.” He grinned as I shook my head.

  The man standing inside the small room was pouring himself a cup of coffee from a pot on the counter at the back of the room. The front area was mostly taken up by a round table of some kind of light-colored wood.

  I skimmed my gaze over the microwave on the counter, the refrigerator, and the baskets filled with snacks alongside the coffee pot.

  The man turned as we came through the door, his expression surprised. “Oh. Hello. Are you looking for Kat?”

  He was pretty much just as I’d pictured him. The salesman was even younger than I expected, making a possible relationship with Celia Pepper even more suspect. If I had to guess, he was probably no older than early thirties.

  Morial a.k.a. “Motoroil” Lipski, I assumed. Our salesman boyfriend. Grym had gotten his name from the company website when we’d agreed to visit the plant.

  “No. We’re looking for you,” Grym said, reaching to close the door behind him. “I’m Detective Grym and this is Naida Griffith. My uh…civilian consultant.”

&
nbsp; The man’s gaze altered from pleasantly surprised to startled when Grym turned the lock on the door. “Look, I…”

  Grym lifted his hands, palms out. “Mr. Lipski, we don’t want any trouble. I just need to ask you some questions about Celia Pepper.”

  The man frowned. “Celia? What about her. Is she okay?”

  He seemed very convincing, but I knew a true criminal would be able to manufacture that kind of concern. “She’s very sick,” I said, praying Grym would go along with me. “She said you might have some idea why. Something to do with a cream…?”

  He blinked. “The Fountain of Youth?” He paled. “Oh no, I told Kat that wasn’t ready for prime time.”

  My eyes threatened to widen but I stopped them. “Really? What’s wrong with it?”

  He leaned back against the counter, forgetting the coffee cooling in his hand. “The tests we ran on the early formulas gave people a terrible rash on their…” He turned bright red, his hands creating a circle on the air below his waist. “Let’s just say it was on a bad spot.”

  “Like diaper rash?” I asked, really working hard not to look at Grym. I could hear the detective growling softly. “That sounds really painful.”

  Lipski nodded. “I understand it is. I’m really sorry Celia is suffering. Kat promised me that side effect had been eradicated.”

  “Has it?” I asked, turning to stare at Grym. I couldn’t help it, my lips were twitching.

  He growled again, teeth showing, and poor Morial Lipski took a step back. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Yeah,” Grym said, dragging his warning gaze from mine. I coughed over a chuckle. “Is this problem potentially fatal?”

  Lipski’s brown gaze turned bulgy. “Fatal? Oh my goodness…no.” Tears filled his gaze. “Please tell me Celia’s all right.”

  “She’s far from all right,” Grym told the man. “She’s dead. Along with four other women who used the cream with her. And I believe the cream was directly responsible. We need to find out why and how, Mr. Lipski. But more importantly, we need to find out who. Right now, you’re the only who we know about.” Grym took a step closer, his body rigid. “Did you deliberately kill those women, Mr. Lipski?”

  I thought Lipski might pass out. “No! I’d never. Celia was a friend.” Tears slid from his bulgy eyes, his hands lifting to cover his mouth. “Oh, this is terrible. I’m going to tell Kat to stop production right away.”

  As much as I wanted that to happen, I recognized that he’d be in danger if he did that. If he truly was innocent, we couldn’t let him risk ending up like those women. “You can’t do that,” I said, feeling Grym’s stare as I stepped forward, going with my gut.

  My instincts were telling me Lipski wasn’t our killer. He didn’t have the nerve for it. “If you do that she’ll be forewarned. We need to find proof first. Can you do something to keep any more of the cream from being delivered?”

  He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “But you think Kat did this?”

  I certainly wanted to think that. I didn’t like her very much. She seemed too… What? Appealing to Grym? Nah, that couldn’t be it.

  “We don’t know,” Grym answered for me. “But we need your help, Mr. Lipski. We need to catch the person responsible for those women’s deaths. Will you help us?”

  He thought about it for half a beat and then nodded, sniffling. “Yes. I’ll do whatever I can, Detective Grym. You have my word.”

  Grym rubbed a hand over his face, which I noticed had a sheen of sweat on it. “I’ll want a list of all the stores that currently have this cream in stock,” he told the salesman. “Can you get that for me?”

  Lipski hesitated a beat and then nodded. “Kat and Mr. Geras will be out of the office this afternoon. I’ll see what I can find.”

  15

  A Bounty of Problems

  Grym stumbled slightly as we headed out into the hallway, throwing up a hand to lean against the wall. I glanced his way and saw the ashen quality of his face and the lines around his mouth. The artifact was starting to gnaw away at him again. We needed to get him shifted back to his supernormal form.

  “Call me with whatever you find out?” Grym asked, handing Lipski the card he dug out of his pocket.

  Lipski nodded.

  “Anything else you think of…or if you see anything suspicious,” Grym told the man. “I’d appreciate your insights.”

  Lipski’s head snapped up as we came out onto the production floor. “There’s Kat. She doesn’t look happy.”

  I shoved Lipski’s arm. “Go. We don’t want her to see you with us.”

  As Lipski hurried away, I grabbed Grym’s arm. His shirt was damp with sweat. “Let’s go,” I jerked him toward an exit straight across from where we stood. It was fifteen feet away. If we hurried, we might be able to get out ahead of Kat.

  Lipski was right. The woman’s previously upbeat expression was gone, obliterated under a pink face and eyes that flashed with rage. Behind her, two people in dark suits, a man and a woman, hurried to keep up with her long, quick strides.

  The real Maycee’s representatives, I presumed.

  I hurried after Grym, who stumbled toward the door, leaning heavily on the sill of the main office windows.

  Movement behind the glass caught my attention, and I looked up into the face of the owner, sucking in a surprised gasp to see him only inches away. Suddenly the thin glass barrier didn’t seem nearly enough. I could feel his power pulsing against my skin through the window.

  His eyes were dark gray, ancient and fierce. His face was heavily lined, the creases giving him a strange power that belied the years implied by his slight frame and bent shoulders. He wore his heavily grayed black hair slightly longer than fashion, and his lips were all but hidden beneath a thick mustache that drooped from the ends of his mouth.

  His gaze when it fell on me was fierce.

  With an effort, I jerked my attention away and scrambled after Grym. He shoved the door open and all but fell outside. I scooted quickly out behind him, ignoring the strident sound of Kat, screeching for us to stop.

  Fortunately, we’d come out of the building close to where I’d parked my car. We’d parked on the outside edge of the lot so we could make a quick exit if necessary.

  Thank the goddess, because as it turned out it was necessary.

  The heat of a late morning sun beat down on us as Grym stumbled toward my car. I wrapped my arm around his waist and tried to help, but he weighed about a thousand pounds and it was like trying to guide a boulder across a steep slope. He kept veering away from me, and I was helpless to correct his trajectory.

  Finally, I grabbed his arm. “Stop!”

  A door slammed behind us. Panic made it hard to breathe. Kat was coming after us.

  But when I looked up, it wasn’t Kat I saw. It was the man with the fierce eyes and sad face.

  He was standing a few feet from the door, staring at us, his small hands crossed before him. He had to be twenty yards away, but I could feel the bite of his power against my skin. Grym sagged downward. I couldn’t stop him. He was too heavy and he had gravity on his side. He hit the side of a pickup truck and slid to the hot asphalt with a groan.

  He needed to shift and fast, or he wasn’t going to survive.

  “Go ahead and shift,” I told him. “Nobody can see you down there. I’ll bring the car around.”

  He nodded and magic rippled on the air around him. I didn’t wait to see if he managed the change. I took off running toward my car, praying Mr. Geras didn’t follow.

  Turning to see if he was still there, I breathed deeply under a surge of relief. The spot where he’d been standing was empty. There was no sign of him between me and the building.

  He must have gone back inside.

  Slowing my strides, I turned toward my car. Then jerked to a stop with a yelp.

  Mr. Geras was standing a few feet away. Between me and my car.

  I stared at him, unsure what to do. Power beat against me, comp
ressing my chest until it started to hurt. My lungs stopped taking in air and needles prickled over my skin. I took a step back and then realized I didn’t want to show him my weaker inclinations. Not yet, anyway. If he tried to use some of that terrifying power on me, I fully planned to run like the pansy butt coward I was.

  The drooping mass of his mustache twitched and the ends lifted slightly. I realized he was smiling. “Hello, Keeper.”

  I blinked. He knew what I was. Okay. I wished I knew what he was. “Mr. Geras.”

  The eyes narrowed on me but the smile, such as it was, remained.

  “Why are you in my place of business?”

  I had a decision to make. Did I come clean and ruin our chances of sneaking up on him if he was behind the deaths? Or did I try to keep my cards close? It seemed unlikely, given the amount of power he was sweating into the air, that I could lie to him about anything. Or catch him unawares. So I pulled as much air into my lungs as their clamped state would allow, and forced myself to step closer.

  The fierce gaze widened slightly. I’d surprised him a little. It was good to know that was possible.

  I hoped it was worth the embarrassing pit stains I was already creating on my blouse. “I think you know why we’re here, Mr. Geras. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”

  “Going on?”

  I briefly considered the stupidity of egging him on, but figured it was my best chance to find out what he was about. And I was hoping his knowledge of my role in the magical power structure might save me.

  Hey, I’ve always been a bit naïve. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.

  “Please don’t play dumb, sir. My partner needs to get out of the sun (and his human skin) and we have four dead women to find justice for. Your magic anti-aging cream seems to be at the center of everything. I’d appreciate you being honest with me. But if you’re not, we’re going to find out what you’re hiding anyway.”

  The mustaches assumed new depths of droopiness. “I’m not hiding anything, young woman. It’s impertinent of you to accuse me of such a thing.”